My Husband, My Slave--Part 4 - Sex Stories

My Husband, My Slave--Part 4

... every day at lunch and again after work as soon as we arrive at her apartment. I’ve been sleeping there with her every night for the past week. The apartment has a lovely view of the lake.” John pushed me into the limo and closed the door. Anja said a few words to the driver and we sped away. I was destroyed—humiliated—by the scene at the clinic. I understood for the first time how John must have felt kneeling and watching me fuck those other men. Surprisingly, I didn’t blame him at all. I knew that I’d tricked him into slavery, chastity, and cuckolding—preying on and, obviously, destroying his love for me. I cried all the way to the airport and on most of the flight, too as I returned to my lonely house—my husband, my slave gone forever. What a fool I’d been. I was no better on Monday when I returned to work. My eyes were puffy and red and my makeup could do nothing to hide my hours of crying. I said nothing to my staff. What could I say—my husband got tired of drinking my piss or he hated cleaning my lovers’ semen from my cunt? I worked much longer hours than usual. I had no reason to go home where I was even lonelier than I was at work. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I lost weight and suffered diarrhea from my lack of a regular diet. My work suffered and I came close to being fired several times. I had told John that I’d be happy doing everything alone. What a colossal mistake! I hated housework and now I did have to do it all. I hired services for the house and lawn. Mostly I ...

... missed John terribly. What I wouldn’t do to have him back for only a second. I cried horribly every time I even thought about him. Our pictures throughout the house were even worse. I was home for less than a week when I was served with the divorce papers. I cried all night, so badly that I couldn’t go to work the following day. The papers lay on my desk. I just couldn’t sign them. I hated myself after reading the many allegations against me. I’d been a horrible person. No wonder John hated me. I began to see John in every man on the street. Twice I was sure I had seen him, but after running almost a full block I could see it wasn’t. That just made me cry even harder. I’d never been lower. I was a wreck without John, sitting home alone on Saturday morning a month after John had left me. I hadn’t had an orgasm since taking John to Switzerland. Once I had thought there was nothing more important than my cunt and the pleasure it could give me. Now I would gladly cut it from my body if only John would come back. The longer I sat there the more I thought about taking my life. Then the doorbell rang. I let it go. Who would call on a loser like me? Whoever it was, the person was persistent. The doorbell rang and rang. Finally, I rose--still in a total funk, my eyes still bloodshot from all my tears—just so the person would go away. I opened the door and…”JOHN!” I broke down as I rushed into his arms, hugging him for all I was worth. My body was shaking violently as I stood in the ...